


The Political Situation in Salkades

by queenkatharine



Category: Three Dark Crowns Series - Kendare Blake
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death, Politics, Revolution, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenkatharine/pseuds/queenkatharine
Summary: “The illusion of control in this country is quickly crumbling. With every day that passes, with every military coup and the everyday person’s act of defiance, with every rebellion led by civilian factions, Martel and his Grand Council cannot ignore the movements that will eventually burst into something more volatile. They will not be able to continue the ruse that so many Salkadians buy into. When the time comes, the question will not be who will replace the longstanding military regime, but what will replace it? Without an answer to this question first, overthrowing the Martel family will be a failure even before it is done.“What a bunch of nonsense,” mutters Emil.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Political Situation in Salkades

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit AU-ish, if only because it contradicts small parts of canon, but I still think it’d fit into canon without any of the Fennbirn characters catching on to it.

It’s a bright, clear day when Nicolas Martel, son of His Excellency General Alexander Martel, boards a ship headed northwest for Fennbirn Island. A large crowd gathers to watch his departure, well-wishers shouting their love and affirmations of hope for Salkades’s future leader. These are the citizens most loyal to the Martels, the ones always out on the streets to watch grandiose military parades and the first to celebrate the neutralization of rebel groups. It is only their natural duty that they see the young Martel boy off on his journey to bring glory to their nation.

Elena stands among this crowd, and although her expression suggests vigorous loyalty, inside she is filled with dread.

_ We’re all doomed _ , she thinks. Like all children, she’d grown up with that chilling nursery rhyme:  _ Three black witches, all fair to be seen. Two to devour, and one to be queen. _

Barely out of university, Elena struggled to keep her life together when it kept getting ripped apart by the state. Her father, publicly executed for organizing one of the several, seemingly never-ending failed coups against General Martel. Her sister, disappeared off the streets one night on her way back from a meeting. And herself, constantly under the surveillance of either undercover police or informants.

Any hope she might’ve had for things changing had dimmed when she’d heard where Nicolas Martel was to go. Growing up, she had always heard the stories of an island surrounded by mist, where queens ruled by way of duels and powers gifted from a Goddess. The older she became, and the more reality started to sink in, the more she brushed them off as nothing more than silly mythology and folktales, a way to briefly escape the depressing situation in Salkades.

If Nicolas Martel marries the winning queen, it’s over for them. Any vestiges of resistance will be squashed with the supernatural gifts of Fennbirn Island easily at the Martels’ disposal – in Salkades and around the world.

_ He won’t, though. _ Elena convinces herself it is an inevitable fact, because otherwise her family was destroyed for nothing. She has to believe that the queens that had enchanted her as a child are too intelligent to get mixed up with a Martel, too clever to not see right through that family’s schemes.

As the ship slowly drifts from the port and becomes but a speck on the horizon, Elena can only hope.

-

General Alexander Martel can see all the way to Victory Square from his office in the General’s Palace. The city of Solmirade stretches out before him, the sun from the west casting a soft orange glow over the red-tiled roofs of the houses and buildings below.

In his hand, he grips the invitation from Fennbirn Island like it’s a victory medal handed to him on a silver platter. It may as well have been. Nicolas was just like him: charming, cunning, and clever. It wouldn’t even be a matter of making a queen fall in love with him – those girls had been raised from childhood to yield to their guardians’ orders. Having met Natalia Arron on a diplomatic trip once, General Martel also knows which queen will be the most beneficial and the easiest to cast his lot with.

Although he has never set foot on Fennbirn, General Martel has heard of the unnatural powers the citizens of that island possess. He knows there is a reason for why Fennbirn has never been conquered. Why, even before the mist, Fennbirn has defended against attack after attack. With all that power, it’s a shame that none of those queens have ever used it for offense. If any of Fennbirn’s rulers had had the presence of mind, the whole world would be under their rule by now.

Luckily for Salkades, they hadn’t. It was only a matter of time until Nicolas had those powers under control. The Martels have waited for this opportunity for a long time – they can wait one more year for the poisoner queen to ascend the throne.

After all, when all is said and done, Fennbirn will be under his control and Centra will no longer be able to defend itself. With Fennbirn’s fleet and powered soldiers, Salkades will smash every last ship of Centra’s naval blockade to bits and pieces.

General watches the sun setting on Solmirade, and smiles.

-

When Nicolas Martel’s ship finally anchors in water, he is standing on the deck looking towards the cliffs of Fennbirn Island. His first thought isn’t of awe or wonder. No great joy of discovery or excitement to finally lay his eyes on the mysterious land hidden by mist he’s grown up learning about courses through his body. For the most part, he is unimpressed.

_ I can’t believe I’m leaving Salkades to live here. _ He almost grimaces at the idea, but he halts his inner thoughts from showing through in his countenance. His stance and aura must exude power and confidence, which isn’t remotely a challenge for him. Unlike any of the other potential suitors, he doesn’t need to pretend to be unafraid. If anything, they should be more afraid of Nicolas than the queens.

However, another part of him is thrilled with how close to raw power he is. The Quickening Ceremony will give him enough information about the island’s many powers to send to his father.

In a way, he feels like he’s meeting his destiny. Nicolas has always known he’s fated for greatness, for something that will bring Salkades to more glorious heights. More importantly, Salkades will be able to stop relying on the General’s Corps to put down the pitiful, bloody coups that have been erupting more and more frequently in Salkades.

If he’s happy to be in Fennbirn, it’s only because he won’t have to constantly watch his back, to be ready for the next disloyal military officers’ divisions who try to overthrow Martels. How ironic that the same people claiming to want to bring power back to the citizens are the same ones who launch uprisings that cost thousands of civilian lives every year. Three centuries of orderly and secure rule, and the Martels are thanked for it with underground rebellions and a fracturing, increasingly traitorous military.

No matter. It’ll be fixed by this time next year.

Nicolas climbs into a smaller boat that’ll take him to the beach and leads Salkades into the Disembarking.

-

_ “The illusion of control in this country is quickly crumbling. With every day that passes, with every military coup and the everyday person’s act of defiance, with every rebellion led by civilian factions, Martel and his Grand Council cannot ignore the movements that will eventually burst into something more volatile. They will not be able to continue the ruse that so many Salkadians buy into. When the time comes, the question will not be who will replace the longstanding military regime, but  _ what  _ will replace it? Without an answer to this question first, overthrowing the Martel family will be a failure even before it is done. _

“What a bunch of nonsense,” mutters Emil, paging through the thin book entitled  _ The Political Situation in Salkades _ . Despite being recently printed, the book is already well-worn, having been secretly passed from hand to hand and read in the privacy of one’s own home.

“Why nonsense? If you didn’t agree with her, you wouldn’t be here,” Aya frowns, hanging up another paper to dry on the line stretching from one end of the room to the other.

“She’s too focused on what comes after. We can’t think of an  _ after _ while people are disappearing off the streets. We might not even get an after, if what we know about Fennbirn Island is true.”

Aya scoffs, preparing to fit another sheet of paper into the press machine. She puts the paper in and presses the lever. “Please, those are just myths to scare children into obedience. ‘ _ The big bad queens of Fennbirn will come for you with their mystical powers if you don’t finish your chores.’  _ The only reason we’re scared of them is because the Martels have always been scared of them. The Martels don’t like anything that could withstand the military they boast to be the best in the world. Fennbirn having never been subjugated by any other nation also threatens the image that Salkades’s militaristic prowess is unmatched.”

“That’s the point, though. Fennbirn is a tiny island with no permanent allies caught in between large nation states that all more or less hate each other. How is it that no nation has ever successfully brought it under their rule?”

Aya carefully takes her paper out of the press, checking it over for faint or blotted letters.

Emil and Aya are just two of the people working in a small team that operates in the dingy cellar of the tavern that Emil’s family owns. The leaflets they print here contain all sorts of information: which minor official in a city somewhere in Salkades was recently arrested for “corruption,” reports that contradict the official updates of Salkades’s skirmishes with Centra’s navy, news of what’s happening in the rest of the world. Things that directly run against what state-run papers censor out, completely lie about, or alter the context of to put Salkades’s actions in a more positive light.

If there’s one thing a growing movement needs, it’s reliable information about its own country.

“Suppose that all those stories about Fennbirn is true. What difference does it make? The Martel brat isn’t going to make any allies there. They’ll hate him; if not for his condescension and unearned superiority complex, then just by virtue of who his father is and what they know about Salkades’s government.”

“See, that’s exactly my problem. Fennbirn’s isolationist policies are so extreme that there’s no way its citizens know anything about Salkades. For all the lies that the Grand Council tells, I’d wager that even the average supporter of the General knows more about the world than the whole of Fennbirn.” Emil angrily tosses his book aside and gets up from where he’s sitting, pacing the small length of the room. “What gives them the right to ignore the rest of us who don’t have unnatural powers? Do their queens just lounge around, not caring about their neighbours? They’re selfish.”

There’s no arguing with Emil when he gets like this. He always works himself up, getting angry at everyone and everything, expecting everyone else to be just as righteously furious as he is. It’s an explosive temper that she’s seen most rebellious young people exhibit. By the time they get to Aya’s age, they either give way to acceptance and passiveness, living life as if they’re a character in a play reciting lines, or that anger becomes less violent and more of a buzzing that settles deep beneath the skin. It becomes muted, constant, but more manageable. It prevents the sort of recklessness that prompts university students to fall into the allure of bombs and half-baked assassinations.

“Like I said, the young Martel’s nasty attitude and beliefs will prevent any queen from choosing him as her king-consort. If not …” Aya trails off, not wanting to voice what will happen if the regime gains access to powers that no military could fight off.

Emil sits back down and remains quiet for the rest of the evening, reading random sections of  _ The Political Situation of Salkades _ . He tries not to think about what happened to the professor who wrote it.

Aya continues printing leaflets.

-

Nicolas Martel is just finishing with writing his signature on the letter addressed to his father, detailing everything that happened from the Disembarking to the abrupt end of the Quickening Ceremony and the start of the Ascension Year, when the captain knocks on his door and notifies him that they’re approaching Bardon Harbor.

What an amazing week he’s had, and he hasn’t even stepped foot into the capital city!

As he waits for the ink to dry, he remembers the moment he stepped out of his boat and onto the sands of Fennbirn Island. As the other delegations arrived, he’d stared each one of them down, noticing whom each country had sent. When Nicolas met the eyes of the Crown Prince of Centra, tan and dark-haired with a red flower on his lapel, he got to witness fear trickle into his eyes as he realized just whom he would be competing against.

If General Martel hadn’t explicitly told him to evade any diplomatic crises, Nicolas might have tried to kill Centra’s Crown Prince himself.

He was surprised Centra had sent a delegation at all, never mind choosing to put their pathetic Crown Prince where he’d be easily accessible to Salkades. They must have thought being on Fennbirn would protect him, seeing the island as neutral grounds rather than the perfect place to assassinate a politician. It amazes Nicolas that that country hasn’t collapsed from the foolishness of their leaders yet.

He gleefully adds this into the letter for his father, delighting in the fact that the Crown Prince had all but fled after the Quickening Ceremony, withdrawing Centra’s chances of taking the island’s powers for themselves.

When he’d bowed to the queens, he hadn’t known which one was Katharine at the time. He bowed for the first and second, but when he got to the third, he’d seen the grotesque mask over her face, her short and choppy hair, and knew instantly that she couldn’t be Katharine. His father wouldn’t have let Salkades ally itself with such a queen.

Now, he hands the letter to one of the members of the General’s Corps who’d been tasked with seeing Nicolas to Fennbirn before he makes his way down the gangway and into a carriage. Neither he nor his father would have trusted any military officer with such an important task, only certain that his father’s paramilitary troops, separate from Salkades’s military and secret police, was fully loyal to the Martel family.

It doesn’t take long to arrive at Greavesdrake Manor. His bags are taken to the guest rooms by a servant while he’s given a tour of the grounds and the mansion.

“Where’s Katharine?” He asks.

A pause. “ _ Queen  _ Katharine is out in the city with her mare. If you want to greet her, you can take a horse from the stable and meet her on the path she’ll take to get here.”

He doesn’t miss the emphasis on  _ queen _ , nor does he bristle at the reprimand and subtle establishment of power.

“That suits me fine. It’ll do me well to pick a horse and get used to riding it.”

And that’s how he ends up exploring the grounds of Greavesdrake, anticipating his reunion with the queen.

Admittedly, he’d been pleased that Katharine wasn’t ugly up close when he’d seen her from across the fire at the feast. Disappointment had crept in when she’d gone missing after the Quickening Ceremony, but he’d quickly brushed it off and determined to pursue Queen Mirabella. He didn’t understand why they weren’t allying themselves with the more powerful queen, but the Arrons were clearly worthy allies if they’ve managed to keep the throne mostly for the poisoners for centuries.

When the rumours of Katharine’s return had made their way to him, he’d been intrigued. The Undead Queen, they called her. Interesting. It wouldn’t hurt Salkades’s reputation to be tied to a queen with such a moniker.

Suddenly, he glimpses the black mare and Katharine’s black clothes. He follows her, matching the speed of her horse, when she flies down the path and he loses her.

_ What …?  _ He barely has the time to go anywhere with his thoughts, because she suddenly pulls up in front of him, causing his mount to rear up and toss him to the ferns at the side of the path.

He almost curses her out, but then she’d think him rude and it would make his task of securing Salkades’s future much more difficult than it needs to be.

Nicolas speaks to her in soft tones, putting on an air of a charmed suitor in awe of formally meeting his queen.

He’s definitely intrigued by her now. When Nicolas asks her if she would have killed him and she responds in the affirmative, he can’t help the thrill that sweeps him.

Perhaps he doesn’t have the most powerful queen, but he certainly has the deadliest.

He’ll have to write another letter to his father.

-

The trial is a farce.

It shouldn’t surprise anyone at this point. What’s more surprising is the number of people who don’t see that, who see only a traitor to the Martel family being rightfully punished.

Dominik can barely speak. His vocal chords are raw and his body is still in pain, even with the painkillers they forced down his throat. In any case, he doesn’t need to speak much. They already forced a confession from him in prison. All that matters is that he answers questions with “yes” or “no” and not contradict the prosecutor.

He’d been at his daughter’s school recital one day, watching her and her classmates sing patriotic songs dedicated to the glory of Salkades, General Martel, and the Martels of centuries past. That evening, as he was indulging his daughter’s stories while his wife was finishing up the dishes, a knock had sounded at the door. With dread, he’d gotten up and answered it, only to be met with the secret police.

Dominik had grimaced, resigned to what was to happen to him. “Don’t do this in front of my family. At least let me put my daughter to bed before I come out.”

One last time, he tucked his daughter into bed and told her how much he loved her, kissed his wife goodbye, and stepped outside without bothering to put his coat on.

Months later, and he finds himself in a courtroom facing a jury that had been handpicked by the prosecutor, all loyal citizens of the state.

He would be almost at peace with it if a bell from a side room didn’t ring every so often, prompting the prosecutor to leave the courtroom for several minutes at a time before he comes back in and starts accusing Dominik of something unrelated to what they’d been discussing before. It would be amusing if the prosecutor looked like he knew half of what he was talking about.

In the end, it doesn’t matter what he was accused of. It doesn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. What matters is that the jury unanimously convicts him. What matters is the rest of the courtroom cheering when they announce his death sentence.

What will replace this indeed.

-

It is almost too easy for Nicolas Martel to have one of the General’s Corps go undercover and poison Tommy Stratford and Michael Percy. It helps that they’ll think it’s the poisoners doing, an attempt on Arisnoe’s life that had gone awry.

It also helps that other countries’ governments aren’t so privy to Fennbirn Island’s secrets. Centra only remembers because of Queen Elsabet, the mad queen that even Fennbirn and Centra couldn’t keep secret from the rest of the world, and that memory is only possessed by the royal family. Salkades remembers because of Fennbirn’s military prowess and its inability to be conquered. Centra and Salkades have guarded the secret of Fennbirn closely, not wanting to complicate their centuries-long skirmishes and deep hatred for one another with more nations wanting to interfere.

Poor Tommy and Michael. No one will mourn for them but their families, not being politically important enough to be remembered or avenged.

Nicolas Martel has changed his mind; he loves Fennbirn. It’s the perfect killing ground.

-

The first thing that Stefan will do once he gets out of here is go to a tavern and drink until he blacks out and wakes up in the opulent fountain found in Miles Martel Park, hopefully after he’s drunkenly convinced others to help him take down the statue of Miles Martel.

Bevellet’s embassy in Solmirade is nothing fancy. Stefan is surrounded by the same walls and furniture every day, as he has been for the past three years. General Martel has tried to lure him out by promising him clemency, but Stefan would be an idiot to fall for that. He knows wishes of whiskey, fountains, and statues are only just that. Wishes. If he has to spend the rest of his life in this building without stepping a foot outside of it ever again, then so be it. So long as he stays here, diplomacy and international laws will protect him.

Still, he mourns for what he’d had and for what could’ve been. He remembers his colleagues and students at the University of Solmirade. He remembers how foolish he’d been, practically writing out his death with his signature on the student-written document listing their demands after the latest failed coup at the time.

It’d been one of the bloodiest coups in Salkades’s history, but it was also the only one that had almost succeeded. The political science class that he’d taught had been energetic, barely paying attention in class the day it had started. If only he’d done something to tamp down their excitement. If only he’d followed Liliana’s lead and hadn’t done anything, if he’d stayed quiet.

Stefan laughs bitterly to himself. His colleague, a philosophy professor, hadn’t had to take refuge in an embassy three years ago, but the irony of it all is that he’s still alive. Staying quiet three years ago had clearly only prolonged her life. As he stares down at the book in his hands, he can’t help but cry. He almost wishes the book didn’t exist, wishes he had a time machine to prevent her from publishing it.

_ The Political Situation in Salkades  _ mockingly stares back up at him.

-

“There’s just no solidarity among the people!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Everyone is splintered into different groups who all want different things, but we all have a common goal of taking the Martel regime down. Shouldn’t that bind us together in some way?”

“Some would think so.”

“You don’t think solidarity is what we need right now?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. We definitely need it. Yelling about it constantly won’t actually make it come into fruition. The more you incessantly talk about something, the more you turn off people from actually listening to you.”

“Maybe if people listened, we wouldn’t be yelling about it because we would already have achieved the first part of taking this country back from the Martels.”

“And give it to whom? The descendants of the exiled monarchy in Centra?”

“At least we’d be rid of the dictatorship!”

“You haven’t read  _ The Political Situation in Salkades _ , have you?”

“I have, I just don’t take it as the final word on what we should do after we’re free of the General and Grand Council.”

“How can you disagree with a text that supports your argument about solidarity?”

“I appreciate the sections on solidarity. The rest is nonsense.”

“You mean you only pick and choose what you deem as correct based on your own beliefs. You don’t want true solidarity; you just want everyone else to give up their ideas and agree with yours wholeheartedly.”

“They’re not  _ my  _ ideas.”

“No, just yours and every other monarchist’s in this country.”

Rebecca scoffs, but doesn’t deny it.

Once, Salkades had been ruled by a monarchy. Rebecca grew up with stories about rulers who had never possessed the surname Martel, rulers who hadn’t suppressed their citizens’ thoughts and access to information. Rebecca’s family had remained steadfastly loyal to the monarchy throughout the centuries, knowing that they would someday rule again, when the military dictatorship was toppled, and the descendants of the royals could return from Centra.

Zoe isn’t so convinced by the stories of glittering jewels and perfumed silks. Even with their country’s history so altered, filtered, and muddled, she knows that there was a reason for why the Martels, a noble family whose province conscripted men into their own private army – like every other polity during those regionalist times – were able to so successfully launch a coup against the king and maintain their power. For the Martels to have had so many supporters, the people of Salkades must have been dissatisfied with the monarchy.

She sincerely doubts that bringing the monarchy back would be so popular with the people who aren’t loyal to the Martels, nor with the different rebel factions that all want different things for after they overthrow the General.

They are walking through Miles Martel Park, talking quietly and far away from anyone else, falling silent when they walk past other people. Rebecca’s wedding is in four days, and they’re taking a break from all the wedding preparations, leaving her fiancé to entertain his future parents-in-law at home.

Rebecca and Zoe turn from the park and down Main Street, stopping at various windows to look at what’s on display in the stores. They’re just turning towards Victory Square when the ground shakes with the first explosion.

Rebecca turns to Zoe, her face rapidly paling. Zoe grabs her arm, feeling how she tremors, and tugs her back the way they came, following the crowd of people who are doing the same thing.

Another explosion sounds, this time much closer, sending shockwaves strong enough that Zoe stumbles, struggling to keep Rebecca upright.

Some people are running into stores, and Zoe can’t help but think how stupid they are to trap themselves in a building so close to the explosions. What they should be doing is heading towards open space, much like she and Rebecca are doing right now.

There’s a steady drumming sound echoing in her head, and it’s not until she sees the uniformed men marching in from a side street that Zoe realizes it’s not just in her head. It’s a moment too late when she realizes that they’re likely setting up a perimeter or blockade, stopping anyone from coming in or going out.

They’re trapped.

Rebecca is crying, babbling about how  _ she doesn’t want to die, her wedding is in four days, it’s not fair, she doesn’t want to die, what will her family do without her, she spent so much money on her wedding dress, she doesn’t want to die. _

Zoe doesn’t want to take refuge in a shop so close to the action, but where else can they go? If they keep going down Main Street, eventually they’ll be corralled into Victory Square. It’s almost guaranteed that they’ll be caught in the crossfire there, so close to the General’s Palace.

She’s still weighing her options when the third explosion goes off.

-

Pietyr Renard wants to strangle Nicolas Martel.

He can’t, though, because Natalia will kill him, if Katharine doesn’t get there first.

He doesn’t like the way Nicolas looks at Katharine, not when she’s looking at him nor when her back is turned away from him. Nicolas is charming, yes, but he also looks at Katharine like she’s a prize to be won; not as a person, but as something to own.

It makes Pietyr uneasy, so he confronts Nicolas one day in the stables during a rare moment when he’s all alone and away from Katharine.

“If you so much as hurt Katharine or try to control her, I won’t hesitate to make you regret it.”

Nicolas turns to him, a dangerous glint visible in eyes. “Is that so? And who are you, to threaten  _ me _ ?”

“I’m an Arron. That’s reason enough to make you watch yourself.”

Nicolas laughs condescendingly. “You think being an Arron means anything to me? Let me tell you something, Renard. Your family may put your precious little girls playing pretend at being queen on the throne, but my family actually wields power. You’re nothing compared to me.”

“Katharine is not a pretender. She’ll make a fine queen, because she’s capable. She doesn’t need her father to secure her place. Queens do that all by themselves. Fennbirn’s families only uplift and guide them.” Pietyr defends Katharine with heat. He doesn’t really believe what he’s saying. Katharine  _ is  _ capable, but he knows that the queens wouldn’t be so successful if not for their host families. The poisoner queens, at the very least, wouldn’t have had as much success if not for the political maneuvering of the Arrons. But he can’t let Nicolas, of all people, insult Fennbirn’s queens.

“Careful. You might be an Arron by blood, but even you can’t get away with being so familiar with  _ Queen  _ Katharine.”

“Like you care about respecting monarchies,” Pietyr snapped. “We’re not completely clueless about the rest of the world, at least not the important families. I know what your ancestors did to King Émeric.”

“Ah,” Nicolas says, unconcerned. “That’s what a leader gets for being weak. If you can’t control your people from rising up against you, you don’t deserve power.”

“Ironic, considering how your country’s citizens organize a coup against your father every other month. You might want to do something about that, before they do to you what your family did to the last king of Salkades.”

Suddenly, Nicolas looks like he’s one moment away from murdering Pietyr. 

Pietyr would be afraid, if he hadn’t just drank tainted wine. He could spit in Nicolas’s face and have him clawing at his face, unable to bear the pain of the poison, but he doesn’t need to.

Nicolas pushes past him, leaving Pietyr with the last word. Pietyr doesn’t know why, but it feels like a hollow victory.

-

The coup fails, resulting in 1,200 casualties, most of them civilians.

It’s unclear who the leaders of this coup were. General Martel rounds up the officers he suspects aren’t as loyal as they claim to be, executing each one of them in a Victory Square.

The families of the civilians don’t receive any compensation from the government for the loss of their loved ones’ lives.

-

Months pass. Rebel groups in Salkades continue to operate through underground activities, printing leaflets, organizing the next coup, and committing small acts of defiance every day.

When a shop owner refuses to put up a sign for General Martel’s birthday parade, he’s harassed by Martel’s supporters and state forces. It garners people’s attention. They talk about it in the privacy of homes, in secret lectures that professors give to students opposed to the regime, away from the prying ears of the secret police.

No one hopes, though.

-

Nicolas Martel can’t help feeling smug when Katharine is crowned, watching as she kneels to receive her tattoo.

He’d been reporting to his father, telling him about the powers of the island. The warriors had been a pleasant surprise. He hadn’t dreamed of being handed highly trained warriors, but here he was, next to a queen who now possessed the ability to issue orders. With the way he’s been charming Katharine, there is no doubt she’ll abide by his whims.

He wonders if he’ll get a statue built of himself in Fennbirn as well as Salkades. After all, he’ll be known as the Martel that secured Fennbirn’s naval fleet and unnatural powers for Salkades. The rest of the world will bow down to Salkades.

In his glee, he forgets to shield his thoughts from showing through in his facial expressions. One suspicious glare from Renard confirms it. Nicolas Martel can’t bring himself to regret this lapse.

At the end of the day, he’s still the winner.

_ Nicolas the Conquerer. That’ll be my epithet _ , he muses. It has a nice ring to it.

-

When news breaks of Queen Katharine’s crowning and Nicolas Martel’s victory in Salkades, there is a disparate reaction among the population.

General Martel’s supporters flood the streets, proud countrymen hang up flags from their balconies, impromptu military parades are hastily prepared. The General’s Palace is awash with champagne and wine. Night after night, an elaborate feast is thrown. The rich and affluent, those who have a financial stake in the war against Centra, attend and toast to the future glory of the regime.

The other part of the population grieves in silence. They cannot show anything but joy at the news when it’s publicly announced in Victory Square, in a tavern, in the classrooms of the University of Solmirade. When the celebrating is over, they all go home and think about the future of their country. Partisans consider banding together for one final coup, but it’s no use. There isn’t enough time to plan and coordinate, plus Fennbirn will surely retaliate now that Salkades has gained a foothold there.

Elena sits in the quiet of her apartment, haunted by a family that no longer exists.

Emil drinks until he’s throwing up in an alleyway between his family’s tavern and the building beside it.

Aya reads her children a bedtime story and tries not to cry when she looks at them, pondering the world that they’ll inherit one day.

A widow thinks about her husband and wonders if it was all for nothing.

Stefan throws Liliana’s book across the room, not caring what Bevellet’s diplomats think of his outburst. They’re just as shocked at this reveal as he is.

An ex-fiancé struggles with his grief, ignoring his family’s attempts to comfort him.

It’s too much for anyone to bear.

-

Queen Katharine celebrates her coronation.

By the end of the evening, she’s crying and thinking  _ I’m a monster  _ as Pietyr tries to comfort her.

While she, Pietyr, and Genevieve try to think of a solution that won’t set Salkades against them, they don’t think about anything except what it means to Fennbirn.

Unbeknownst to Queen Katharine, she’s just created a shift in Salkades’s balance of power.

-

It’s weeks later when the celebrating is dying down that a messenger nervously hands Alexander Martel a letter, backing away as soon as he’s passed it off.

He reads the first line and freezes.  _ Treachery. _

Someone must have promised the queen something in return for assassinating Nicolas. Either a Salkadian rebel group, or Centra’s own monarchy. He’s contemplating all of this when he reads the next few lines and learns how Nicolas died.

Humiliation sweeps through him. Years of combat training couldn’t have prepared Nicolas from falling off a horse and into a ravine. He would prefer it if Nicolas had died in combat, a death more befitting of a Martel.

He’ll have to spin this somehow. He can blame rebels for infiltrating the ranks of the Corps and murdering Nicolas.

It isn’t until he’s finished reading the letter that he realizes the seal on it had already been broken when he opened it.

-

The people of Salkades suspect that Queen Katharine murdered Nicolas, that she had seen through his façade and decided that the Martels’ legacy had to end. Queen Katharine has to put out an official statement about Nicolas’s death, confirming the rumours surrounding his death by being an incompetent rider.

Partisans form a coalition, combing military factions and rebel groups that had never interacted before or gotten along. It’s a first in Salkades’s long history.

No matter how vehemently Queen Katharine denies her role in Nicolas’s death, rebels don’t believe it. How could a boy who’d grown up riding horses fall off of one to his death?

A group jokingly erects a statue of Queen Katharine in Miles Martel Park, replacing the statue of the park’s namesake. It’s inaccurate and doesn’t look remotely like her, but what does it matter what the statue looks like? It’s about what it represents.

In the end, it takes over a week of protests and street battles throughout the country until the military turns against the secret police and the General’s Corps.

Alexander Martel is brought out and executed in Victor’s Square, along with the members of the Grand Council.

Historians will look back on the death of Nicolas Martel and pronounce it the final nail in the coffin of the Martel regime. Three centuries of control, undone by a teenage queen.

-

What comes after is messy and hard to navigate. Solidarity built in those moments of revolution disintegrates, and everyone has a different opinion on what they should do next.

They don’t know how long the peace will last. They don’t know what their country will look like in a year from now. 

It’s a continued conversation, one with lots of questions and very few answers.

They’re still figuring it out.


End file.
